


A Week of Firsts

by Ragazza_Guasto



Series: Danger Night [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Banter, Bottom Sherlock, Established Relationship, Fluff, Humor, Johnlock - Freeform, Light Angst, M/M, POV John Watson, Rimming, Sexual Experimentation, Shameless Smut, Top John, Topping from the Bottom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-26
Updated: 2014-07-26
Packaged: 2018-02-09 06:51:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1973037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ragazza_Guasto/pseuds/Ragazza_Guasto
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Things have progressed to the point where Sherlock feels ready to take that next step with John, more than ready if you ask him, but John is the one who doesn't feel up to the task. They might have to work some things out first before taking the plunge, as it were.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Week of Firsts

**Author's Note:**

> Somebody come to my funeral and say nice things about how much I loved angsty buttsecks. Butts, and feels, and butt feels.

 

"Hold still!"

"It stings!"

"If you would stop squirming it wouldn't take so long," he snapped as he did his best to pin Sherlock to the mattress.

A petulant silence followed immediately by, "Just hurry up. I can think of a thousand other things I'd rather be doing than this."

"Ta, I'll remember that next time you're begging-"

"I never beg," Sherlock snarled and twisted away again.

"'John,'" he mockingly drawled. "It hurts. John, I don't want to go to hospital. Help, John." 

He continued to wipe at the blood that pooled in Sherlock's lower back. The cut looked shallow but Sherlock's blood was so thin it continued to drip from the wound at a steady pace, staining his white shirt and now the blue sheet of their bed as he flung himself to and fro. He glared up at his...whatever the hell Sherlock was...though he couldn't see it, and thought the next time Sherlock jumped a fence and landed on a piece of broken glass he'd leave him to his fate. John wiped gently at the surrounding area of the laceration, the abhorrent mark on his pristine white flesh, and shook his head. _No you won't._  

"You know I hate going to hospital. It's dull and it smells like disinfectant."

"I'm dull and I smell like disinfectant and yet here I am," John pointed out. He pinched the ends of the torn skin together, judging the severity of depth. As he first thought, not so bad, it wouldn't need stitches.

Sherlock hissed. "Easy!" He shifted away minutely again.

John slapped his arse. "Quit squirming." He received a growl and a tiny, childish nudge. _Leggy git_ , John mused. Served him right, jumping over that fence like a deer, only to slip in the rubbish and land on his back. He was far too graceful most of the time for John not to take a bit of satisfaction seeing him wheeze in the dirt, just a bit. He reminisced on the memory of his long legs in those tight black trousers, the way they fit against the curve of his ass as he moved...He sighed in longing, that was until he snapped out of his daze and remembered he was currently resting his forearm on said arse and he'd personally investigated said curvature of arse in great detail the last few weeks. He hummed contently to himself, a wicked self satisfied grin growing as he smoothed the antibacterial across the wound in Sherlock's back. _The things I'm going to do to that arse,_ he thought as he pulled a square of gauze from his med kit.

"John Watson,” Sherlock announced with a drawl, “you're thinking about sex."  

John looked up in guilt, but of course Sherlock couldn't even see him. "Maybe you're projecting." He smoothed the tape holding the gauze pad gently and sat up fully. 

Sherlock turned enough to look over his shoulder. "I wasn't." _But I am now_ , his smirk said. "Tell me, what I were you thinking about?"

John thought about ignoring him. _Fuck that, I don't have to pretend anymore._ "Biting your arse."

"Really?" He looked away in thoughft. His brows came down in confusion. "What is the purpose of that?"

John licked his lips. "Would you like to find out?"

He hummed. "I'm amiable. Though I'm not sure what it's supposed to accomplish."

"I'll let you in on a little secret," he pulled at Sherlock's belt until he took the hint and lifted up enough for John to get his hands underneath, "not everything we do is for your specific enjoyment." He tugged the leather until it was loose enough to work Sherlock's trousers and pants down over his lush behind, and admittedly felt a little self satisfied when he threw them into a heap beside the bed. 

"So I'll just lay here supine and let you have your way with me, shall I?" Sherlock deadpanned as he pulled the ruined shirt from his shoulders.

"Sounds great, yeah," he replied in kind.

Sherlock growled at him. "If you think I would ever just lie here like a rag doll while you-" He sucked in a surprised breath as John sank his teeth into the meat of his arse.  "Oh."

He bit down just a bit harder before letting up the pressure, soothed over the mark with his lips before moving over and biting again. Oh, how incredibly satisfying it was, to feel that taught bit of flesh give just a tiny bit against his teeth. Sherlock took several ragged breaths above him.

"John," his voice broke.

"Like that do you?" He teased, the fingers of his right hand trailing lightly over his skin. He kissed reverently over the newly reddened bits.

"I...I didn't think that...yes," he huffed and, with a languid stretch, moved his arse closer. John smirked and took the hint. 

The very bottom curve, _gluteal sulcus_ , looked very tempting indeed. He clamped down, harder than before, and immediately had to let go when Sherlock bucked up and away with a shout. John laughed at the affronted look sent his way. 

"I warned you, this isn't explicitly about what you want."

"It didn't hurt. It tickled," he snapped, annoyed. He rubbed a hand over his leg as if rubbing the sensation away. 

"C'mere. I'll make it better." John slid both hands under Sherlock's thighs and pulled him further down the bed, careful not to jostle him too much because of the wound. Turned out that thousand count bed sheets were perfect for man handling leggy, posh knobs into whatever position you needed them in. He leaned back down and, instead of biting, as Sherlock must have anticipated, laved at the very top of the crease of his arse. The man sucked in a shocked breath at the sensation and John grew bold. Two weeks in and they hadn't checked this off the list yet. John thought it a good a time as any to rectify. He didn't usually take steps in bed without Sherlock's express permission but he got the feeling they'd be negotiating the terms of this venture for hours if he asked, so he decided to skip that part and do as he pleased, damn the consequences. 

"John," Sherlock warily drawled as he neared his target.

"Yes?" He murmured just before swiping his tongue over the man's hole. 

"Ah!" 

John caressed lightly once, twice, before lifting up enough to ask, "Good 'ah' or bad 'ah'?"

"I...I...you," he rattled off incoherently. 

"Good 'ah' then." He gripped two fistfuls of arse and lowered his head again. He worked Sherlock over, using every trick he knew, lightly and rough, pointed and wide, learning what Sherlock liked best when he keened aloud and fisted the sheets. John took a lot of pride in his work, even though his jaw began to ache, he continued to push his tongue against and into Sherlock until he knew the man was about to break.

"John, please, oh please," he begged.

"Use your words, Love. What do you need?" He teased.

"You, you imbecile. Hurry up," he growled. 

"Ah, you know what happens when you mouth off, don't you?"

Sherlock didn't reply, he whined and stretched, reaching into the bedside table.

John took the opportunity to pull his jumper over his head and tug his trousers off. He was a right mess, sweaty and practically shaking. Hopefully his partner didn't notice his lack of composure, it would ruin the effect.

"Bottom drawer. Bottom, Sherlock," he informed the man as he slapped ineffectually in the top drawer. 

"Yes, I am aware, thank you," he snapped. The drawer was yanked open and a grey plastic bottle was flung into his lap. He smirked at Sherlock as he settled in, content now that he was about to get what he wanted. John thought about teasing him some more, drawing it out a bit, but he didn't know if even he could stand waiting any longer. This was as far as they had gone in their sexual escapades. For the past few days, he would bring Sherlock off with his fingers and Sherlock would graciously suck John inside out, a skill he'd taken great pride in learning at John's instruction. Genius at that, Sherlock was, just brilliant. He mentally prepared himself for Sherlock's wrecked voice begging John to fuck him, a recent addition to their current activities. How he loved and feared hearing it. It wouldn't be long before he gave in but he wanted to hold out as long as possible. The anticipation was exhilarating, but he knew once they went there, once it was done, there was no going back, and that thought was petrifying. What if he hurt him? What if he just didn't like it? 

"John," he growled, voice like gravel and glass.

 "I'm here. Just enjoying the view." He slicked up his fingers and set the bottle aside.

"You're going to enjoy it as I'm walking away if you don't-"

"You were saying?" John was first knuckle deep in Sherlock, a sure fire way to shut him up. 

"Yes," he hissed and pushed back. 

A part of John, the devious, selfish part, knew Sherlock was going to be brilliant at taking his cock, and most likely love every minute of it. Ever since he'd first found that bundle of nerves inside, Sherlock had been keen as could be. He wasn't shy, he rocked back, forcing John to accommodate the angle to the detective's specifications. And every time they ended up like this John came a little bit closer to giving in. It was hard not to, the way Sherlock was writhing like a damn cat in heat all over the bed. He could only imagine what it would be like, his prick enveloped inside while Sherlock rode out his orgasm, oblivious to anything but his own pleasure the way he did. Maybe that's why he hesitated to give Sherlock what he wanted. This had so far been mostly a 'my turn and then your turn' sort of affair, with the exception of the frotting incident 'The morning after', and hadn't that been the most emotional either one of them had gotten? They loved each other, he knew they did, but taking that last step felt like consummating it. You and me, forever more, no take backs. So why wasn't he rushing to lock it down? Maybe he still didn't believe Sherlock could want him forever. That was it really. There wasn't any practical reason not to, he'd had them both tested the day after they'd woken up on the floor together, and even if one of them hadn't been clean, it would have hardly mattered, they would have just worn condoms. He probably should have thought of that before he decided to gag himself on Sherlock's cock that first night, but in his defense, he'd been drunk and Sherlock did have one beautiful cock. It wasn't his fault. 

"Another. Another, John. John!"

He snapped out of his revelry as Sherlock bellowed for another finger.

"Jesus, am I boring you?" The git snapped. "Pay attention."

"Do you remember last Thursday?" John threatened. "Is that what you want?"

"No," he mumbled, instantly contrite. After the decree that Dr. Watson was never again allowed to give another prostate exam, John had left Sherlock alone on the bed and refused to come back until he'd apologized. 

"All right then. Keep the demands to a minimum." He rewarded Sherlock with a second finger, stretching the tight muscle as gently as he could. 

"Oh, that's so good, John. I could do this for hours," Sherlock panted and stretched to claw at the headboard. 

John smirked. "Liar. We've tried that, remember?" He cocked his head to the side, enjoying the view of Sherlock's long torso and legs stretched out. The scene deserved a few languid strokes of his cock in appreciation and he gave into the idea easily enough. It was hard work, keeping up the different rhythm with both hands, but he managed.  

"I would have lasted longer if you had shut up. Mmm," he purred when John grazed his prostate gently. He knew to start out lightly, just a few teasing grazes every third pass or so. Sherlock was so vocal it hadn't taken any time at all to learn what he liked.

"You loved it."

"If you thinknnnnhhhh...that I...", hitching breath, "Jesus. That I don't know when I'm being manipulated, John Watson, ffffffuuuuuu...."

"Stop begging me to fuck you and I won't have to manipulate you into coming."

"Never!" He snapped his hips roughly and groaned. "Oh, please. More, I need more."

And here came the begging. Always more with him, that's how it started. As if three fingers wasn't enough to get him off. 

"Sherlock," he warned. "Don't start."

"John," he whined back, seemingly on the verge of tears. An act, he was sure.

"I'm serious, I'll fuck you when I'm damn good and-

 Sherlock punched the pillow next to his head. "If you don't put your cock in me right this instant, I'm going to scream bloody murder. Mrs. Hudson will come to investigate and neither of us wants that."

"We've talked about this. I'm not going to over-"

"Christ John, if you say overwhelm one more time!"

"All right, keep your voice down."

"This is ridiculous. If I were a woman you'd have fucked me six ways from Sunday already."

John stopped pumping his fingers and just blinked for a moment at that. Did he really think that? "No. It's not that. No, it's not that you're a man, I just haven't been with a someone who was inexperienced since I was young."

"Virgin," he snapped. "You can say it. I'm a virgin. Christ, had I known you were so squeamish I'd have gone off and-"

"Don't," John growled. "Don't say something here you'll regret."

Sherlock pouted. "I don't see why you're still denying me my basic right to penetrative sex in this relationship. I'm not asking you to put on a costume and let me ride on your back around the flat."

John tried not to smile and failed. "You are ridiculous."

"Unless that's something you're interested in, and then maybe. Though perhaps it would be best if you got on my back. I'm not sure you could coordinate running with my height and weight-"

"Just shut up, would you? That's not," he took a deep breath and laughed, "forget the costume. If you want to know the truth...I'm scared."

"Scared? Of what?" He demanded and pushed against John's hand, the least subtle hint of all time. He went back to fingering his flatmate, albeit much slower. 

"It's hard to explain. I'm just not ready yet."

" _You're_ not ready. What the hell do you have to be ready for?"

John took a steadying breath and wiped his sweaty palm on the bed sheet. How had he got himself into this mess? "It's the last big step for us, Sherlock. It's the most intimate thing two people can do together and I'm just," he took another shaky breath to calm his nerves but lost his train of thought when he realized Sherlock had stilled against him.  

"The most intimate thing?" He asked quietly.

"Yes, it is."

He pulled away slowly and very carefully curled up on his side. John frowned. What had he done? He laid his hand on Sherlock's hip but the man flinched away.  A pit opened up in John's stomach at this horrific turn of events. His instincts screamed at him to flee, to quit the room before he made more of a mess than he already had but he couldn't do that. Not with Sherlock, not about this. He crawled up the bed until he lay beside Sherlock on the pillow and, as cautiously as one would a wounded animal, he brushed the fringe away from his eyes. They were squeezed shut as if to keep John from seeing him. 

"What is it, Love? I'm sorry, I don't know what I did, you have to tell me."

"The most intimate thing," he whispered, "and you don't want to with me."

John reared back in shock. "What? No! God, no, that's the furthest thing from the truth. Christ, how could you think that?"

"I don't know. Possibly your stanch refusal to have sex with me."

"No, this is all backwards." He took Sherlock's clenched hands in his own and squeezed them to his chest. "You can't think I don't want you. No, god, I want you more than anything." Sherlock opened his eyes and his brows came down in confusion. John knew he'd have to explain eventually. A confused Sherlock was a persistent Sherlock. "It's not you, Love. It's just...I'm terrified I'll ruin it, that you'll hate it or that you'll grow bored with it, with me..."

Sherlock blinked at him as if he'd been talking out of a second, much dumber head. "Is your self esteem really so bad you'd deny us both the pleasure simply to save yourself the imagined slight against you?"

John flinched. "Yes, apparently. It's daft, I know, but there it is."

"But you've done this before, haven't you?"

They'd not really brought up John's past sexual history before but if Sherlock wanted to know he would be honest with him. "Yes."

"So...what exactly is the issue here? You've anally penetrated partners in the past, I assume none of them have gone screaming from the room...?"

"No, thank you very much."

"So again I ask?"

"None of them were _you_ , you daft git. Your opinion matters to me, more than anything in the world."

Sherlock snorted right in his face. "The hell you say. My opinion is we should have been shagging twenty minutes ago but instead we're having a chin wag about your intimacy issues." John opened his mouth to tear into him but he pulled his hands from John's and put them to either side of his head, bracketing his face, and stared at him so intently he closed his mouth with a snap. "I wanted to have sex with you three minutes ago because you were third knuckle deep in my arse and I liked it." John laughed. "But now I want to have sex with you because I love you and I want to experience the most intimate thing two people can do together with you. Will you deny me _that?"_

John swallowed against the swell of emotion that bubbled up. "Of course not."

Sherlock pulled him forward until their lips met and John breathed so heavily through his nose, his head swam, but he didn't pull away. Not until Sherlock quietly whispered against his lips, "How do you want me?"

"Anyway I can get you," he answered truthfully. 

"Dammit John, I'm bowing to your expertise again and you're missing it. Pay attention."

"Oh, yes. All right," he mused on the question. "I want to say on your stomach so we don't aggravate your cut more than necessary but-"

"Nope."

"-you'll only refuse because you're a difficult, stubborn child."

"I want to see your face," he pouted, effectively shutting John up for a beat.

"All right," he agreed quietly. "All right. How about this?" He raised further on the bed, pulled the pillows up and then lay up against the headboard. He motioned for Sherlock to climb up onto his lap, which he scrambled to do. He sat flush against John's cock and he had to grip the man's long thighs like a lifeline.

"This could work," Sherlock mused happily, with a wicked little shifting of his hips to punctuate his contentedness at the position. 

John squeezed his eyes shut and dug his blunt nails into white skin. "You'll be the death of me. I'll never survive."

Sherlock bent double to ghost his lips over John's. " _Le Petit Mort_?" He whispered.

"Sure, I'll take two if you're cooking."

Sherlock laughed, his smile lighting his face like Christmas morning. “How about this? You teach this to me and I'll teach French to you.”

John sucked in a breath when Sherlock rocked back against him. “I don't think that's a fair trade," he pointed out breathlessly. 

"I speak six languages fluently, at least three more passably. You can take your pick, I'll teach you anything you want to know. Or how about sciences? You're not bad with chemistry, I could teach you to help with my experiments. Would you like that? I would love to share that with you. Perhaps you'd be less inclined to throw them out if you were more involved, hmm?"

John nodded and smiled, only passingly aware of what Sherlock was talking about. He might have been insulting him for all he knew. It was hard to concentrate when 84kg was grinding down on your prick. The excess slick smoothed the way spectacularly and John could only pray he didn't embarrass himself as soon as he breached the man. 

"Sherlock," he groaned and motioned helplessly at the plastic bottle at the end of the bed. When he bent back to reach for it, his torso arched in a way that was not only beautiful to behold, but also angled his arse in just a way that John's eyes rolled. "Hurry. Hurry up, c'mon. Gimme that," he panted in a rush and snatched the bottle as soon as Sherlock turned around with it.

"First it's not now and now it's hurry up. Make up your mind, will you?" He rose up out of the way so John could lube his cock quickly. John didn't take the bait Sherlock laid out, he was too far gone to be angry at the man's tone. He stroked himself fully until he was satisfactorily covered, when he looked up Sherlock was watching him, fisting himself as well. John groaned loudly at the sight and let go of his prick like he was burned. _I'll never make it._

He swallowed several times before he could croak out, "All right. When you're ready." He shouted when Sherlock took him in hand and immediately lined himself up. "Slow! Go slow, Sherlock, seriously."

"Are you kidding?" He looked down incredulously. "I couldn't be more prepared if a team of footballers had gone in before you." 

John huffed out a slight laugh. "That's not what I meant but thanks for the visual." Sherlock's scowl said he didn't understand but didn't care to ask. "I'm about twenty seconds away from going off as is. If you plant your arse on me now I'll never last."

A look of smug accomplishment fell over Sherlock's face. "Really?" He teased the head of John's cock against his entrance and John hissed.

"Yes, you vain shit. You're the sexiest thing on two legs. You're god's gift to mankind."

Sherlock grinned, like John knew he would. "I think you're exaggerating a bit."

He panted hard when Sherlock started pushing downward in earnest. "I'm not. I'm really not." His abdominals burned with the effort of keeping his hips still as Sherlock worked at easing him in.

"You really mean that. How long?"

"What?" John looked up in exasperation.

"How long have you thought I was the sexiest thing on two legs?"

John could have cried. Sherlock was being serious, he'd stopped moving, seemingly until he received an answer. John racked his brain, shook it until the correct answer popped out. "Bart's. Could have shagged you on the table top if Mike hadn't been sat there. And if you'd been keen, obviously." He flexed his hips in an attempt to get the man moving again.

Sherlock smiled down at him. "I wouldn't have been." John scowled at him. Of all the smart arse things to say at a time like this... " _Then_. Now is a different story."

He moved in earnest then and John choked off a shout when the head of his cock popped through.

Sherlock gasped, eyes wide in shock.  "Oh, John. You were right. It is significantly bigger than your fingers."

"Christ," he panted. "Go easy, don't hurt yourself."

"Shut up. It's wonderful." He slid down another few centimeters and they both groaned. John had to clench his eyes shut and move his hands from Sherlock's thighs to the bed sheet. The combined stimulus of the sight of entering him and the feel of those lean muscles working to raise and lower in his lap was exacerbating the sensation around his prick. Sherlock was so tight around him, by the time he was flush with John's legs John was breathing so hard his head was spinning.

"Breathe," Sherlock commanded, a bit breathless himself.

"I am!" He panted out. 

"You're going to pass out at this rate. Take a deep breath and let it out slowly."

John did his best to follow the command but as soon as Sherlock rose up again it was all for naught. Even though he was going slowly, sliding centimeters at a time, John still whinged like a pathetic dog. You'd think he'd never done this before, but he wasn't kidding before, it being Sherlock made all the difference.

"Are you going to make that face the entire time?" Sherlock asked.

John slid one eye open, fractionally. "What face?" He replied, only marginally offended.

"That one," he motioned, "something between crying and waiting to be murdered spectacularly."

John gathered his thoughts as best he could before answering. "I'm doing my very best not to go off like a rocket here, Sherlock. Can we not discuss this now?" 

"Mmm, rockets. You know what military talk does to me, don't you dare. I'm having a wonderful time, I'd like it to last."

 _Yeah, me too_ , he mused. Actually, if it got to be too much he _could_ talk Sherlock through it, just like last time. He really did love it when John went Captain Watson on him. He tried to think of something to say but all he could think about was the times he'd tossed off to that picture of Victoria Beckam that he'd stashed in his bunk. Sherlock probably didn't want to hear about that. 

"Oh, Christ," he called out when Sherlock started learning tricks. He'd applied John's head sensitivity when giving oral sex to their current activity and had risen up until his tightest muscles clamped John like a vise. He grinned like a fiend as John cursed him to perdition. 

"Jokes on you when I'm no longer any use to you," he growled at the bastard.

Sherlock's smirk didn't move at all. "Oh, I don't know. It's a bit flattering really." He slammed back down, hard, and John slapped his hands back onto those now sweaty thighs as he snapped his hips up.

"Fuck, oh damn you, stop that," John commanded.

He did it again.

John growled and gripped Sherlock by the cock in retaliation. He bent double on a gasp, before snatching both of John's hands and pinning them to the headboard.

"Don't," Sherlock snarled. "I'm not finished with you yet."

"Stop being so bloody good at it then," he replied.  

He then watched as the realization of the new angle of entry changed Sherlock's countenance. He hummed as his eyes slid closed and his tongue came out to lick at his full bottom lip. John's stomach did flips at the sight. He leaned forward on instinct and licked at the newly moistened skin as well. Sherlock's eyes snapped open and then suddenly they were snogging hungrily, John's hands still pinned to the wood and Sherlock still snapping his hips in a way that should be impossible given the angle. The pace had sped up as they kissed and John was moments away from spending inside his flatmate turned lover. He must have sensed it, because he pulled back enough to pant in John's face and slow the drag of his muscles, just enough to distract.

"Think about that night in the skip...do you remember? We got trapped in that alley and you cursed at me for hours because it started raining. You said it was the worst night of your life. Think about that."

Of course John remembered that night. He'd been lying when he'd said it was the worst night of his life, of course he had. Because the truth was, Sherlock had just reminded John of the night he'd realized he was close to being irrevocably in love with his flatmate. Despite the rain, the cold, the horrid smell, and the fear of discovery, he'd never been more aware of Sherlock's decency and that was all that seemed to matter. He'd pressed up against John in that skip, huddled together for warmth, had even taken off his coat and draped it over the both of them. They'd stayed that way for hours, he'd even fallen asleep a bit, rested against Sherlock's shoulder. He felt his face soften in remembrance, and he felt the memory of his forbidden want crash into their current position and he couldn't control himself. 

He heard Sherlock's yelp of surprise when John flipped them over so that he was on top. Later he'd feel guilty for forcing Sherlock onto his wounded back but in that moment all he could do was crash into him. 

Sherlock didn't miss a beat after John started to piston into him. His back arched in pleasure and he clawed at John in an attempt to pull him in closer, harder. He laced their fingers together and made damn sure Sherlock's cock was snuggly pressed between them as he shoved into him. He had moments left, bare seconds, before he finished, and he'd be damned if he went before Sherlock did. His lips found his lover's and he poured every bit of satisfied longing into his kiss, tried to say with skin what he couldn't say with words. It seemed to work, as Sherlock tore away on a gasp.

"John," he managed before he panted silently in wonder. 

He had a bliss filled moment of observing that sight before his eyes closed on his own orgasm. He squeezed Sherlock in his grip for what seemed like hours before collapsing on top in a grunt. His face pressed into the crook of Sherlock's neck and he rubbed contently against sweaty curls. Neither moved, just learned to breath normally again, until Sherlock squirmed and John pulled out of him with a groan. 

"What a mess. Sorry," he mumbled, not really caring, just being polite. 

"Mmm," Sherlock mused as he ran his fingertips up John's sides, "Maybe condoms would be best. No clean up. And perhaps they'd help with your ability to last any significant amount of time."

John raised up until he could look Sherlock in the eye. "You're going to pay for that."

A gallic shrug, followed by, "You're the one with the problem, how is that my fault?"

John grinned down at him, a look of supreme satisfaction as he whispered in Sherlock's ear. "Good luck finding your nicotine patches."

Sherlock gasped and flung John off his chest as he scrambled to search the top drawer. "Where are they?" He snarled. "John! This isn't funny, where are they?"

He lay back against the pillows, arms behind his head as he continued to grin. "I'm not the one with the problem."

Sherlock growled in frustration and made to run from the room, but when he rose his legs gave out and he took a dive into the floor. John laughed until he cried but he did eventually help the man up. He even kissed his bruised knee. He was a doctor after all. 

**Author's Note:**

> This is what happens when I get blocked on that damn Mystrade. Damn you butt feels!!! *Shakes fist*  
> I'm gonna try and stay off of Tumblr as much as I can while I'm trying to write(cackles in disbelief) but on the off chance that doesn't work out, come find me [artisanbloodbank](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/artisanbloodbank)


End file.
